“If he wants a princess he can forget it.”
“He wants you, Rae Lynn.” In moments, Miss Belle had her hair brushed out. A few well-placed pins with crystal heads, and Rae didn’t even recognize herself. “Look at yourself, sweetheart. It is you. You can be the woman you always wanted to be, whatever that means to you, and he’ll embrace you, fully, wholly, without any restrictions.”
Dabbing at her eyes proudly, Miss Belle beamed at her in the mirror. “And if not, I’ll give you the parasol I used to keep handy to club some sense into Colonel Healy, God rest his soul.”
Oh, yeah, Rae knew the crazy old lady would have a loaded parasol somewhere.
The lights flickered.
“I think I need to call an electrician in.” Forgetting the dreamy vision in the mirror, Rae cast a worried glance up at the light fixture. It was at least fifty years old. “Did you actually hit your husband?”
“Only a few times. I assure you, he deserved it.” Miss Belle shot a glare over the corner of her shoulder. “Didn’t you, honey?”
Pipes rattled and groaned in the wall.
“And a plumber,” Rae whispered. “Um, Miss Belle, I was meaning to talk to you about some very strange things that happened today…”
“Don’t worry about Colonel Healy. He’s harmless, for the most part. His bark always was worse than his bite.”
“He’s still around, then? Like a…a…”
The doorbell rang. Miss Belle cocked her head, listening, and alarm flickered across her face. She whirled and rushed for the stairs, Rae on her heels. They hurried downstairs and Miss Belle threw open the door. “What happened?”
Sobbing, Samantha threw herself into the old lady’s arms. “Oh, Miss Belle, it’s so awful! Bill is dead and I think…I think I killed him!”
It took several starts, another pot of tea, and lots of soothing before Samantha got out her story.
“Last night was terrible. I was angry at him for bothering you, and we fought. He can be so mean and nasty when he wants to be. So today, I was home, of course, and I wanted to try some recipes. He came in all sugar and nice like he could make up for being a jerk, loaded down with presents we can’t afford. You know he hasn’t worked in months, so I have no idea where he got the money.
“Then he asked me to bake him some of those brownies he loves so much. He’s diabetic, Miss Belle, you know that. I shouldn’t have made them. I know he drinks, he forgets to take his medicine, but I was so tired of our fights. I made them just to shut him up.”
Her voice sounded so fragile, her eyes huge in her tear-stained face. “I even put extra sugar in them and lots of chocolate. Then I took a whole plateful to him. He sat there eating brownies all afternoon and drinking beer. I left to pick up the kids, and…and…”
Samantha trembled. “When I came back, he was dead. I called the ambulance but it was too late. I killed him with brownies!” A fervent hardness flickered in her eyes that surprised Rae. “And I’m glad.” Then the cook burst into tears again and buried her face against the old woman’s shoulder. “I didn’t know where else to go!”
Sick to her stomach, Rae stood in the silly white dress wondering if in a few years, she would have been driven to kill Richard to get rid of him. If she hadn’t finally resorted to divorce, would she have done something as drastic? Yeah, she decided, remembering the rage that had pulsed in her when he’d hit her. If she’d had a gun in the house, she’d have shot him right there in her kitchen.
What was it about kitchens and domestic disturbances, anyway?
Miss Belle patted the other woman on the back soothingly. “Of course you’re glad, Samantha. He saved you the trouble of having to divorce his ass by croaking.” She tilted the woman’s face up to her and wiped her tears. “Now you go home to those precious children. Don’t say a word. If the police question you, tell the truth. You made brownies, left to get the children, came home, and found him.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s the truth, isn’t it?” Miss Belle smiled that shark smile again that gave Rae chills. “You did not kill your husband, Samantha, not knowingly with deliberate malice. Colonel Healy assures me someone else is the culprit.”
“But—”
“Go home and take care of your children,” Miss Belle repeated. “Don’t come here again until after the funeral. I have some investigations to do. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Standing on the porch with the old woman, Rae watched Samantha drive away, calmer now that she had allies on her side with a clear plan. The old lady waved and sighed, turning back inside. “Let’s hope I can figure out who really killed him before the grand opening. I refuse to give up the best cook in Missouri to the police, even if she were guilty!”
11
Dear Dr. Connagher:
Remember how I said in my last letter I felt like I was having an affair with you, even though I haven’t seen you in…two years now? Nearly three. Has it truly been so long?
I committed adultery with you in my mind last night, and the guilt is eating away at me.
As you probably suspect—if you were truly reading these letters—my marriage to Richard is rocky at best. We fight a lot. I’m starting to realize there’s a huge difference between “control”
—as in, “I like control, Rae,” as you said in your office—
and “controlling”.
He’s a subtle bastard when he manipulates me. Most of the time I don’t even realize it until later. More guilt. More shame. Why don’t I stand up for myself? If it truly bothers me, why not say something? But it’s the little things that weigh on me. I feel selfish and childish when I complain he doesn’t listen to me: my opinions, my objections, my preferences. Not to mention my preferences in the bedroom.
The whole reason I left you was my fear that I’d let you do anything you wanted to me, even if it hurt, simply because that’s what you wanted. Yet in nearly two full years of marriage, Richard has never made me feel like you did in your office that day.
Not once.
In efforts to “spice things up”, we decided to explore “fantasies”. I agreed to live out his fantasy. I let him tie me up and blindfold me. And do you know what happened next?
I giggled.
Seriously, it was funny, like a joke. I wasn’t scared or intimated, let alone turned on. How could he think to pull off some kind of dominant role like that? Did he really think I’d feel trapped, out of control, scared? Of him? Needless to say, the little fantasy scene didn’t go so well after that.
Lying awake in the darkness, I remembered that day in your office. What it felt like to be held face down on your desk, truly trapped, where whatever happened was totally out of my control. I was powerless against you, and not because of any bonds you used.
I let myself picture it. Tied up, blindfolded, helpless for you.
My heart pounded, I broke out in a sweat, blood rushing in my ears, muscles tightening, clenching. Oh, yeah, turned on, definitely, for you, only for you. Despite the years and distance between us, I felt closer to you that moment than my pissed-off husband lying a few feet away. In my mind, I let you do anything, everything you wanted. I loved it. I needed it. I cried and moaned in my sleep, and I cried when I woke up because it was all a dream.
This morning, Richard left for work without saying a word to me. And here I am, writing you. I’ve come to a terrible realization, Conn. I guess I like control too, but only when you’re the one with the bonds.
I realized something else, just now as I type this. Richard never asked me what my fantasy was so he could make it happen for me. And that tells it all, doesn’t it.
He couldn’t give it to me anyway, because my fantasy is you.
~ Rae
Conn stared at her without saying a word. She tried to read his reaction, but his face was locked down hard. He was gorgeous, as always, dressed all in black. Instead of a suit, though, he’d gone with black jeans, thick black boots, topped with a black leather jacket that
made her shiver.
He looked grim, hard and controlled, even a little threatening.
Her heartbeat sped up and she licked her lips. “Miss Belle went shopping.”
His mouth curved slightly. “So I see. Are you ready?”
His voice was low and soft, not angry. Did he hate this outfit? It was short and sexy, too, just like that mini-skirt he’d spanked her for wearing. She shivered and closed her eyes a moment. How long would it take him to verify whether or not she had anything on beneath this flimsy little dress? “Bye, Miss Belle!”
“Have a wonderful time, Rae Lynn,” Miss Belle called from the study, where she’d retreated to begin her “investigations”. What the old lady thought she could do for her murdering cook—no matter how justified—Rae had no idea. “Don’t forget the bet!”
As if she needed another excuse to stay out of Conn’s bed. She stepped outside and his palm settled on her lower back, heat seeping through to her skin. Automatically, she started toward the passenger side of his Mustang, but he stepped ahead and opened the driver’s door for her. “Didn’t you want to drive?”
Pleased but still unsure of his mood, she slid into the black leather seat. She tossed the new white beaded purse—that Miss Belle insisted she had to carry to complete the outfit—into the back seat. He’d already moved the bucket seat up for her.
He shut the door while she tinkered with the mirrors and scanned all the equipment. It was a relatively new car, satellite radio, gleaming and polished black everywhere. As soon as he was in and belted, she started the engine, a rumbling purr that brought the car to life. Throwing it into gear, she spun out of the driveway.
“If you get a speeding ticket, you’re paying for it,” he said mildly.
“It’ll be worth it.”
The car was incredible, humming with power as she drove down the one-horse road leading through town. In moments, they were on the freeway heading toward Joplin and she floored it to eighty miles per hour, zipping through light traffic easily. She enjoyed the speed a few minutes but then slowed down to a more reasonable five miles per hour over the posted limit. She really didn’t want him teasing her later about a ticket. “Why Mythos? Joplin’s a good hour away.”
“It’s my favorite restaurant south of Kansas City and very worth the drive. How was your day?”
“Strange to say the least.” Did he know about the ghostly events that happened at the house? “We had terrible news this afternoon that Bill Franklin passed away.”
She filled him in, her stomach clenching with dread. Ugly memories of her own marriage gone bad filled her head.
“Poor Samantha. Was Dick like that?”
Staring straight ahead, Rae nodded. “He could be mean, yeah. Sometimes it was the silent treatment, but usually he exploded, hit something, and then he was fine.”
“Did he hit you?” Conn’s voice suddenly went steely.
“Once.”
“And he’s not dead?”
Surprised, she glanced at him quickly. He was deadly serious. “It was our last big fight, and when he hit me, I kicked him out of the house. I told him if he ever came back, I would shoot him. And I would have,” she whispered harshly, gripping the wheel. “I should have kicked him out years before. Should’ve would’ve could’ve. Shit. I shouldn’t have married him at all.”
“That’s my darlin’; shoot the bastard on sight.” Conn reached over and put his hand on her thigh, his grip firm but comforting. “I made mistakes, too, Rae. Everybody does. It’s how you fix them that matters. You know that, Fix-It Lady.”
“What mistakes did you make?”
“Too many to count.” He sighed and stared out the passenger window, but he didn’t take his hand away. “I learned a lot about myself while you were gone, Rae. I ran through every single thing I’d done with you and realized I should have told you from day one what kind of man I am.”
What kind of man I am. Wicked, hard, demanding, sexy as hell. She stole another glance at his averted face, wishing she could see the look in his eyes. “I did a little research on my own once I left.”
That got his attention. He turned, his eyes midnight blue. “Research about what?”
“About spanking and…stuff. Kinky shit.”
His mouth quirked, some of the darkness in his eyes turning to heat. “Where did you research kinky shit, darlin’? This is the Bible Belt.”
“Google is my friend.”
He made a disgusted sound and she laughed out loud.
“I know, I know, you hate the Internet. But if I’d taken the time to do a little research beforehand, maybe I wouldn’t have freaked out so much after what happened in your office.”
He slid closer, turning to face her and switching to his right hand, sliding his palm from her knee up to cup her inner thigh beneath the dress. “What scares you the most, right now, right this minute?”
“Having an accident because you’re driving me nuts.”
Laughing, he kissed her shoulder and didn’t move his hand up any higher. “I’ll be good, darlin’. No panty exploration yet. What about me scares you the most?”
“The most?” Her breathing sounded loud and ragged to her ears. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you no.”
“And that’s bad, why?”
She arched a brow at him.
“I’m serious. If you trust me to take care of you, then you shouldn’t ever be afraid I’d hurt you. It’d kill me to hurt you, really hurt you.”
“I don’t have any willpower when I’m with you. I don’t even know what I want. I’m afraid—”
He kissed her shoulder again, just the slow, lazy brush of his mouth, but everything south went on high alert.
“—that I’ll lose myself.”
“Lose yourself in me, darlin’, because I’m safe.”
She laughed with a hard, wry edge to her voice. “I married Richard because I thought he was safe. He was completely opposite you. You’re dangerous, Verrill Connagher. Very dangerous indeed.”
“Now that’s definitely worth a spanking. I hate my real name. Why do you think I’m dangerous?”
“You look at me—”
He nuzzled her shoulder, still gentle and soft, but it was like cuddling a tiger. When would he show his teeth? “You melt?”
“I can’t even think. He didn’t affect me that way. But I still lost myself, day by day. I hated it. It’s taken me a year and more to find myself again, and I’m not giving that up. Not even for you.”
He raised his head, staring into her face. She was deadly serious. She honestly thought…
Irony was a bastard. She’d run from him because she was afraid he’d hurt her, and then she’d married a man who had hurt her more than Conn’s worst nightmare.
Despite the agony of the last five years, he felt a reluctant relief that she’d run. She had so many misconceptions about what he wanted. If she didn’t have the courage to ask, he might have ended up crushing her spirit without even realizing it.
The thought made his chest hurt. “I don’t want you to change or give up anything. I would never ask such a thing.”
“You wouldn’t have to ask me,” she said grimly, tightening her grip on the wheel. “I told you, I was afraid of myself, too. If I thought you wanted me to do something, I’d do it, just to make you happy, whether you actually asked me to or not.”
“You got me all wrong, darlin’. My number one concern is your happiness, safety, and especially, your pleasure. Quit worrying about what I might want you to do, and decide what you want. It’s my job to see that you get it.”
She shot a doubtful glance at him and then jerked her attention back to the road. “Really? I thought…” She gnawed on her lip, obviously trying to decide how much to admit to him.
Settling back in the seat, he smiled. He’d push a little, and not in the way she expected. Then he’d figure out what secret fantasies she’d had of him. “So you read about control and submission?”
Nodding jerkily, s
he shifted her sweaty palms on the wheel and very studiously kept her gaze straight ahead.
“Bondage?”
Another nod.
“Masochism?”
“Some.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not really sure we should be talking about this now.”
He smiled despite the fire raging in his blood. Sweet and sexy in that white dress, a siren of innocence, Rae tested his control like nobody he’d ever met in his entire life. It was all he could do not to jerk the wheel over to the side of the road so he could haul her over into his lap and remove that dress. “Now is the perfect time. You said you chose Dick because he wasn’t like me. Do you mean that he literally was submissive, or just not as dominant as me?”
“He wasn’t submissive, but he wasn’t dominant, either.” Her gaze flickered toward him again and her mouth tightened slightly. I never really thought about it with him.”
“Tell me.”
Faintly, she whispered, “I really can’t talk about that right now.”
“Just drive, darlin’, and tell me. It’ll be easier this way; you won’t even have to look at me. Pretend I’m not even here in person. In fact, pretend like you’re writing me a letter.”
“I did,” she said quickly, then winced.
Ah, she hadn’t meant to tell him that, either. “I never received any letter from you.”
“That’s because I never mailed them,” she muttered. “After that first one where I explained why I wasn’t coming back to Drury, I found myself thinking about you and writing you all the time.”
He wanted to read those letters so badly that he tightened his grip on the door and his thigh to keep from putting his hands to use for wooing and coercing. Forcing lightness to his voice, he asked, “Are you going to let me read them?”
Again, she bit her lip, and her voice was trembly when she finally spoke. “Maybe.”
Those letters were obviously very honest and raw if she was so reluctant to share them, which only made him want them more. He wanted to get inside her head, read about her fears and dreams and longings all those years. Pushing to read them would be like salt in a wound, so he backed off. “We’ll negotiate that later, then. Tell me whatever you thought of when I asked you about Dick. How was he in bed?”
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